Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness Prelude
by Wends
Summary: Trowa teams up with a shadow from the recent past to solve the mystery behind the plot revolving around Quatre. Sequel to 'Once'. [TQ, Prelude rated for suggestions of volitile past events. Story under rating M.]


A/N 1: The remainder of 'Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness', the sequel to 'Once,' will be posted under the rating of M for violence, torture and scenes of gratuitous pleasure (aka: lemony content). The prelude is posted separately to allow those who browse fanfiction-net under its default settings to be aware that the sequel to 'Once' actually exists, and to give the name of the story. For the remainder of this story, please browse All Ratings. Thank you!

A/N 2: Both stories ('Once' and 'Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness') are suffering from my vain attempt to stay in timeline, and thus now are attempting to tie together the end of the television series and the beginning of 'Blind Target' in addition to tying with one another. Sorry, but in my mind, 'Ground Zero' doesn't strike me as overly 'official' work, and is happily ignored in this case. And as for Battlefield of Pacifists… (twitches) Iggy. The artist admitted in the shorts at the end of the story that it was an 'alternate story' from the original radio drama ('Blind Target') and shall thus be taken as being non-canon.

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W nor any song by Smashing Pumpkins. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

That said and done, let's get this sequel kicked off. Fanfare! (blows kazoo)

_-BEGIN FIC-_

Dearest Trowa,

I thought of you today. I don't recall what I was doing, what was plaguing my brain, what was happening around me at the time. But in the middle of the day's long, seemingly endless hours, your face made its way into my mind's eye and remained there, taunting and inspiring me. I was finding it hard to concentrate on business this morning, so I took the afternoon off to relax and write you this letter. And, while I'm certain that you won't open this letter much less read its contents, I at least can allow myself to be comforted in the knowledge that I was able to write what I was feeling towards you today and actually have the courage to drop this little letter in the mail this evening.

Did you know that I miss you, Trowa? I am still pondering what it is about you that I miss so very much. Maybe your eyes, so soft and deep and warm provided one could see past the cold and emotionless mask you work so hard at to keep in place. Or perhaps it's your voice with its calm and quiet soothing monotone that smoothes away the peaks of worry that plague me during the day. Maybe your physique; you know how my tastes run, neh? Or maybe your mannerisms - the way you cross your arms over your chest when relaxing, the way you place your hands on your hips when vainly attempting to proclaim your superiority and competence. But most likely it's your soul - that beautiful, soft soul, as silky and pure as the petals of the proverbial perfect rose, protected from the harsh and cruel world that surrounds it by its viciously sharp thorns which attempt to ward off both friend and foe. A soul that longs to be touched but can't allow anyone near for fear of being hurt or tainted.

Maybe it's that fear that is holding you away now. Maybe it's that fear that kept you from saying those three precious words I've so been longing to hear flow from your lips.

Or maybe I've read your feelings incorrectly - perhaps it's my own foolish, impure wishes tainting the kokoru no uchu, giving me the false impression that you feel the same as I.

I wish that you would either confirm or deny my suspicions about your intentions towards me.

You who saved me so many times over - saved me from my fate at the hands of OZ, from our attackers at New Edwards, from Gregory Channok's bed, from Dorothy's madness, and most importantly from myself and my own self-destructive longings and crazed, half dreamed wishes for an end to this chaotic game I live each day.

You rescued me from myself, Trowa. For that, I thank you. But you've left me pondering - why? Is it because you feel the same as I do? Or is it simply because in that time of chaos when allies were all that could ensure survival you recognized that I would be of some importance in affecting the outcome of our struggle to match our desired wishes?

I would like to think that you care for me as something more than a simple ally; a friend, at the very least is what I pray for. But I'm so very uncertain of my own intuition - how can I know whether I'm right or wrong if you never give me any sign? If you never say anything?

I've felt this way since I first met you. Since those first sweet notes left that flute and found my ears and my heart. And I've never changed those feelings - through all of our trials together, I've still felt such love for you. I dream of you whenever I'm alone. I imagined it was your touch when the ways and desires of cruel fate into using the weapons of deceit and seduction to further our operations against OZ trapped me. I hear your voice calling to me in the depths of my slumber. I feel your breath upon my neck when I'm stressed and afraid, as I felt it when I held you during our trials last year on Brashaw's base and in Channok's basement dungeon. I still long for you so much...

Isn't it funny? Some of my most fondly treasured memories are those of that war, most from that time we spent together shortly after Heero's attempted self-destruction fiasco.

The hum of your flute.

The nicety of your presence that night before the New Edwards assault in San Francisco.

The touch of your hand when you helped me escape from Channok's manor.

The feel of your body in my embrace when we'd parted at the airport.

The shiver of what may have been love coming from your heart when you left me.

The warmth of your voice when you pulled me away from the cold grip of Zero.

The gentleness with which you aided me after my confrontation with Dorothy.

The kind smile you wore when we drank to the War's end in my hospital room.

So now I sit, alone and lonely, at my home office desk in my house, writing to you even though I know you'll likely forget about this letter after filing away with the rest of your junk mail. You are having your happy life with that girl, Catherine, and your circus.

I envy you.

You're never truly alone.

All I have are the memories of a happier time - the memories of rape and war, broken only by the visage of a savior now long gone.

I thought of you today, and remembered my love for you - a love that will likely never be returned.

Do not worry yourself over me, though. You have moved on with your life. You have found happiness. I too shall find this soon - once I finish my grieving for my dear father, I will move on.

I've found that the greatest way to deal with what's happening in this wretched game I call life is to put it to music. So, when I thought of you, I also thought of a song. I wrote it, played it out, burned it and copied it before I'd decided to write this little letter. In fact, I've enclosed a copy of it - I hope you like it. After all, it encompasses my feelings and desires and longings and fears that were all derived from the memory of you in its notes.

I still love you, Trowa.

I fear I always will.

I wrote this song for you, about you.

I call it "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness."

Quatre Raberba Winner

_tbc…_

'_Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness'_

_Rated M_


End file.
